protect me, teach me
by hummingbirdie
Summary: Laurel Mahaffey is an ordinary witch put into an unusual position. Home schooled until she is attacked by snatchers, she finds herself suddenly thrust into Hogwarts life. With her mother captive and Laurel's bravery failing, can she find courage to fight?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello and welcome to my piece of the Harry Potter AU sandbox. I'm all ready with my ACME flame-proof underwear, but let's hope I don't need 'em...

Okay, so, my name is Hummingbirdie and I'm an aspiring writer who dabbles every so often in bad fanfiction. I love comments and critiques, but flamers will be used to fuel my passion for writting... or something like that, anyways. I'm not that great with updates, so they might be few and far between, but I have the next 5 or so chapters written out or at least drafted in my head, plus I have Study Hall now so I'm writing up a storm. If you want me to hurry, though, just send me a helpful cattle-prod review!

Enough of my rambling, now. On with the story!

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**Chapter 1  
**

_It has to have been a mistake._ A random attack, that was all it was. It was becoming more and more common for muggle homes to be targeted, after all. It had to have been a coincidence. _It has to be._

Laurel wetted her lips and hurried down the dirty streets of London. It was early and fog hung low in the air, another dreary day in England. She had nothing with her other than the clothes on her back and a wand that didn't even belong to her clutched in one hand, tightening then loosening after each meeting of eyes. Anyone could be a threat and she had to stay alert.

_What if it wasn't?_

She pushed it aside, afraid of thinking too deeply. Her emotions were close to the surface and tears were pushing behind her eyes; if she kept with that line of thoughts she'd end up sobbing on the curb until someone made her move.

"There."

The Leaky Cauldron's sign swung creakily over head, the seedy-looking bar coming into view. She pushed open the door and stepped inside, keeping her head down so her thin brown hair slanted across her face. The less attention she garnered, the better.

People crowded the wizarding bar, nursing glasses of something stronger than butter beer. No one looked up as she entered, not even the wizened bartender. She knew his name, she thought, but didn't have the mental capacity to search for it in her memory banks. Instead, she quietly slinked out back, past the enchanted wall, and into Diagon Ally.

More people walked the streets now that morning had come. She must have been wandering London for a few hours for it to be light now, she noted. She had only been to Diagon Ally once, with her aunt when she was young, and finding her way back to the Leaky Cauldron had been difficult. Now that she realized this, her feet began to ache and her muscles protested from the strain of being held taut and alert.

A heavy-set woman to her left was holding the Daily Prophet in one hand, her other restraining a small child swathed in a black cloak. Laurel moved to stand closer behind her, reading over her shoulder.

She stared at the front page and the leading headline for a long while, a whole street's worth of time, before it sunk in and she had to stop moving. Her body alternated from icy cold to burning hot and back again.

It was the latest death toll, the names of muggles and wizards listed side-by-side. Her family was among them, herself included, and her house… It was depicted in the moving picture, blown up on the page. The tire swing that hung in her front yard had caught fire, smoldering in shades of gray and black, and her home – where she had grown up – was nothing but charred ruins, a splash of oil-darkness across the page. Above it hung the dark mark.

Laurel took another deep, shuddering breath and found a place to seat herself, on the steps outside of the big building she thought she remembered as the bank. Gringotts or some such, it was called.

Pulling her red robe tighter around her small frame, the hood up and over her ducked head, she sat. For a long time she did nothing, just barely breathing, her brain slowly turning over the facts that she had to face.

_Death-eaters attacked my house. They took my parents… _

But the question of why still lingered. Neither of her parents possessed magic: Her mother was a squib born to a well-to-do wizarding family and her father was just a muggle. It had surprised everyone when Laurel had started showing signs of magic and when, on her twelfth birthday, she received a letter from Hogwarts. Her family had, of course, declined and her Aunt Margaret instead home schooled her four times a week.

It was for safety, Laurel's mother said. Her family had suffered during the last time of He-Who-Mustn't-Be-Named, had been targeted for their fraternization with muggles: Laurel's great-grandmother had an affair with a muggle man and had been killed for it. So even though he had disappeared, even despite the supposed death at the hands of a baby boy and his parents, Laurel's mother had kept her only daughter hidden.

No one outside of their immediate family even knew she was a witch, other than Dumbledore himself. They had even kept it hidden from their closest family friend, a woman so strong and sure that Laurel could think of no better solution than to run to her.

Admittedly, this woman had never even formally met Laurel, but the girl had heard plenty of stories about her, had painted her a saint in her mind. She had hair like hers, brown and messy, and a kindly face. She dressed in robes of the finest colors, glittering in even the dimmest of light. At least, that was how Laurel imagined her. Truthfully, she'd only seen her once.

Laurel had been getting ready for muggle school, a condition for her nightly teachings which Laurel's mom could not be talked out of, when she saw her. Just a brief second, the woman standing in the middle of the living room with a wand in her hand. She was laughing, her head tipped back. Green eyes, bright as a cat's, caught Laurel's and she smiled just as joyfully and truly as she had to her grandmother. Then, she was gone.

_Minerva McGonagall._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Don't get used to these fast updates. They probably won't last.

Also, **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter in any way. I forgot to say it last chapter, but I assume you all know I'm not the amazing J.K. Rowling. Though I do wish...

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**Chapter 2**

An hour passed before Laurel could rouse herself, shakily pulling herself to her feet. Her whole body shook with tremors, most of which having nothing to do with the cold. She wondered if she was going into shock, but immediately dismissed the thought, assuring herself that she was in fact strong enough to last until the safety of Hogwarts.

Making her way back to the Leaky Cauldron took almost twice as long as before, as she had to stop more than once to ask for directions, but eventually she found her way to the little bar. She paused outside the enchanted doorway to think, rooting around in her memories.

She was six and it was summer, the day bright and warm. She wore her favorite dress, passed down from her mother, and the eyelet skirt swished around her knees with each step. Atop that was a red cloak, given to her by her aunt that day in honor of their fieldtrip. It was too big, hanging off her small frame and dragging along behind her, but she didn't mind. Her mother hemmed it and then strapped her daughter into a pair of patent leather shoes. She could see her reflection in them as her Aunt Margaret took hold of her arm.

"Ready, sweetie?" she said just before they twisted and the world got suddenly smaller. Air pushed in all around her, squeezing her lungs. Just before she would have burst, the two erupted into an alley. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Just before they pushed through the enchanted doorway, Aunt Margaret stopped and bent down to Laurel's level. "Now remember, don't give your last name. Only Laurel, okay?" she said, repeating her mother's last warning. She nodded enthusiastically and on they went.

Laurel and her aunt spent the day in Diagon Alley together, soaking in all the sights. She met more witches and wizards than she could have ever dreamed of existing, memorizing every name she heard. She got to sit on a broom called the Cleansweep and drink butter beer, visit Gringotts and Olivander's Wand shop. She had been using a wand passed down from her great-grandmother, 10 inches of cherry wood with a unicorn hair core, but Aunt Margaret promised her that she'd one day get one of her own.

The two passed through the Leaky Cauldron once more before leaving, Aunt Margaret giving the barkeep her best and sending her regards to his sister. What had she called him?

"Tom," Laurel said aloud, pushing away from the doorway, jerking to the present. That was his name.

She entered the bar, her hood still pulled firmly over her head, and made her way to sit on a stool at the counter. Tom looked over at her from where he was cleaning out a cup with a rag. He set both down and moved to where she was.

"What can I do for you, miss?"

Laurel felt for her pocket. Inside was a string purse with a few coins, mementos from her daytrip and probably enough for a butter beer. She pulled out a coin and sat it on the table. "One butter beer, please," she said. Her voice was raw and low, but Tom seemed to hear her just fine, scooping up the coin and filling up a glass with the rich golden liquid she remembered.

"Here ya' are," he said, setting it down for her. "Anything else?"

"Uh, yes please, Tom. I was wondering… When does the train leave for Hogwarts?" she asked, hoping not to sound too ignorant. For all she knew, this was common knowledge among witches her age.

Tom raised a brow at her. "At eleven o'clock, miss, but little good that will do you."

Laurel's heart leapt and she felt fear strike her, a clench in her chest. This plan, as unformed as it was, was her only option. Where else could she go if not Hogwarts? Was anywhere else safe for her? She thought of her Aunt Margaret and her home in the city. She, of course, only lived there a few weeks a year like most witches and wizards with muggle homes. But that was the only place Laurel had ever been. The other home she lived in was in a well-known wizarding community and Laurel's mother had never allowed her to go.

No, Hogwarts was her only option.

"Why is that?" she asked finally.

Tom's brow raised even higher, his mouth twitching around the edges like he wanted to laugh. "The train left two months ago."

Laurel couldn't help it; she started to cry. She hid her face in her arms and sobbed as quietly as possible, which was still quite loud. She was lost and scared and all she wanted was her mother.

Tom panicked, not used to crying girls in his bar. "Eh, there, there…" he consoled, awkwardly patting her head. "I'm sure Dumbledore won't punish you or nothing… Why don't we just send him an owl?"

Laurel just sobbed louder.

"Or, eh, or I could take you to Hogsmeade!" he offered hurriedly. "Just please, stop crying."

Laurel sniffled loudly but lifted her head, rubbing her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her cloak. "I'm terribly sorry…"

Tom just looked relieved that the girl had stopped her crying. "It's quite alright," he said to be polite, looking around at his other customers. No one seemed to notice in the least.

"Would you really take me to Hogsmeade?" she asked hopefully. She would attempt apparating herself there, but her Aunt always warned her not to perform any magic that could result in bodily harm or dismemberment when in a state of emotional haywire.

Tom looked uncertain, but nodded. What would it matter if he were gone for a few minutes? His costumers probably wouldn't even notice so long as he kept their glasses full. "Sure," he said finally. "Are you ready?"

Laurel nodded. She had no access to any wizarding money besides the few she still had remaining - which probably only added up to about a quill's worth - so buying any school supplies was out of the question. With only her stolen wand and her muggle clothes, she stepped forward. "Let's go."

Gingerly, Tom took her arm and Laurel felt the familiar twist and tug of apparation. There was a jerk, like a hook and line being pulled, behind her navel and all the air was squeezed from her lungs like she were being pushed through an extremely tiny hole.

Finally, the two erupted from the smothering darkness onto a busy street. Someone ran into Laurel's shoulder, causing her to pitch forward. Tom steadied her and she quickly thanked him.

"You know," he said, just before disapparating. "You look oddly familiar." Tom studied her face for a moment, taking in her disheveled hair and big doe-brown eyes. She looked normal enough, but he knew he had seen her before. She held her breath, but he just shrugged one shoulder and bid her good luck and farewell. Then she was alone.

A woman pointed Laurel in the direction of the school and she slowly began making her way, exhaustion setting in once more. It was only noon, though, and Laurel knew quite well that her day had only just begun. There had to be some sort of rule about students randomly appearing at the gates of Hogwarts and she wasn't sure if she could deal with a barrage of questions.

Finally she reached the castle. She knew the sight well, having read an old copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ over and over as a child; the only magic book Laurel's mother allowed in the house for any extended amount of time. She had spent endless nights reading and rereading each page, memorizing every picture. This was better by far.


End file.
